


Their Codependency

by rubyrubio



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-04-04 04:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4125343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyrubio/pseuds/rubyrubio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Outside POV of the brother's and their bond. Because what we know on the inside, may not be what it seems on the out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jessica Moore

**Author's Note:**

> **I cut out the last part because I want to do something entirely different with Amanda Heckerling. 
> 
> Enjoy Jessica Moore!

**Jessica Moore**

 

She remembered the first time she met her boyfriend, and it wasn't the greatest of all encounters ever.

 Sam Winchester was the oddest of all things. The only time she saw him (in which she admits, to check out his obviously handsome features and body) was with his nose stuck in a pre-law book or scribbling down notes in Mental Studies so hard that ink bled out all over his hand. He rarely left campus, and if he did he was in an old coffee shop her friend worked at. He always ordered a pure black coffee; no toppings and always a scowl on his face. That's all there was too him anyway. She always saw him through the window playing with his fingers as he sat in a chair staring emotionless. It was as if he was born with a cold heart.

She pondered this as she took another sip of her Corona, ordering another after finishing her first. The bitter beer stung in the back of her throat, but it was good. As she gulped down another amount, a guy slid in next to her, slouching his shoulders and holding his finger up for Josh to bring him something.                                                                         Her heart skipped a beat as she realized it was the one and only. What was Sam doing here?

 He ordered a round of tequila, and ignored the lemon slices and salt that was brought with it. Each glass was thrown to the back of his throat, until there was nothing but empty shots and orders for more.

She watched in fascination as each drink caused him to scrunch up his face for a second before returning to the next. The more she watched, the more she saw the tired bags under his eyes that wore down to his cheekbones, sagging his mouth to the frown that was always there. She wondered if all of his studies were tiring him, giving him hell. It wasn't uncommon to become stressed by the university life, and with the way he was going with the experience; she couldn't say he'd last long.

Not that she would either, always forgetting when to change her scrubs at the hospital, where certain infections would be the worst, etc. But she tried, as much as Sam Winchester tried to be the loner kid. 

It wasn't long till Josh wouldn't bring him anymore liquor, offering to call a cab to take him home. He just shook his head and slid off the stool, throwing a wad of twenties down before stumbling past all the tables and out the door. She felt the need to help him go wherever he needed to and threw down some of her own cash before racing out the door. 

As soon as she stepped into the cold and chilly night, she spotted him in all of his overgrown posture. He was clutching a phone to his ear, seeming to be in pain as he listened to whoever on the other line. She wanted to step in to hear what they might have been saying, but he quickly shut the phone and chucked it at the other building, leaning between the alleyway in defeat. 

Was he crying?

In fact, it wasn't just tears, but his head constantly hitting against the stone wall and repeating something unintelligible. The hiccups and sobs were breaking her heart, as if she was watching some cheesy chick-flick over a lazy weekend. 

Before she could run over to offer support, she stopped in her tracks again by a simple phrase. "Dean, I'm sorry." 

Sam Winchester kept repeating that into the sky, before sobbing dreadfully into his tucked in knees. Every now and then he would look up and around him, as if he were looking for someone to come and comfort him. Perhaps it was this Dean guy he wanted to comfort him. Either way, she couldn't help but feel like she was looking at a scared little boy. She knew she wanted to see some type of emotion come of out this guy. But this... It wasn't this. 

He looked up at the sky again, eyes puffy and snot running down his chin. If he wasn't so attractive she would've wrinkled her nose. "Dean, I tried. I really did. I need you in my life, but I don't know how to include you. I'm surprised you even bother with all those messa-" His voice cracked, and her heart went out for the Winchester. 

She made her move before she could be stopped again. "Hey, hey there. Sam?" Almost immediately his face hardened up, his hand wiping away tears and straightening himself out. "What? How do you-I don't-" She couldn't hear it any longer and ran a hand through his hair instantly, which seemed to make him close his eyes and sigh. "It's alright, I'm just going to take you home, alright? My names Jessica." 

He smiled as she said her name, and she couldn't think of a better moment than that one. "Why don't you tell me the directions to your place so I can get you back safely?" He laughed weakly, and her heart was pounding. What was so funny." 

Sam looked up at her face, holding her gaze with a new tenderness. She wondered why he ever put on a persona for everyone, because it was clear he stole the hearts of many with those big eyes of his. "I'm sorry to say, but in my hazy situation I don't think I could lead you to my dorm room." She huffed out a tiny laugh before looking around.   
"Of course," She thought to herself. "I have to bring the attractive sad drunk back to my place." 

With a giant heave, she wrenched Sam up and begun walking her way home. Although that didn't seem to shut Sam up. 

"You know you're really pretty right?" 

"Dean likes pretty girls." 

"I'm usually not like this. It's just that it's Dean's birthday." 

"I'm always there for it, but I've gone two without being around." 

"Why can't I be a better person?" 

She didn't know what to do with him except keep him walking and awake. Everything he said was for this Dean guy. She didn't know whether it was a brother or a boyfriend. But it didn't matter; it wasn't her business. 

The minute she opened the door to her apartment, Sam stumbled to her couch, shaking off his jacket and shoes and laying down. It was a while of sniffling before he was passed out, and she felt content. At least he didn't break anything, or try to get into her bed. He was respectful. 

Sighing, she made it up to her bedroom and made sure to help with Sam's hangover in the morning. 

\---

It's been six months since that moment, and she still thinks about it every day. The second he woke up the next morning he was cheery and helpful with her, which led her to her first date with him. She saw him in a whole new light. Everything about him unwrapped, and out came an shy and bright ball of sunshine. She couldn't believe the old Sam she knew ever existed. Because  _this_ was all that mattered. 

She learned who Dean was, and she could hardly believe that he wasn't going to be around to visit, or that Sam wouldn't go out on holidays to see him. His dad was gruff, stern. More of a drill sergeant than a father. That's how he explained it anyway, and that's how that conversation ended. 

Sam would shower her with kisses, with warmth and compliments. His tall height was intimidating, but that didn't stop him from being the sweet boyfriend he was to her. There was some muscle on him, but it seemed to be softer than what it probably was before. His hair was a bit much, but with all that he did for her, she didn't have the heart to try and ask him to chop it off. Besides, her fingers seemed to make a habit of running them through the dark locks, pulling him into her. 

And where he was humble in public, was not what it seemed behind their bedroom wall. She had to give it too him. 

It wasn't until the next January 24th, that things started to get bad again. 

It was past ten, which was alright, considering Sam probably just got stuck at the library again. As she finished up her bowl of pasta,she threw on a coat and began to exit when Sam stumbled in, looking as if he'd been shot. 

But it wasn't the worst of it all. 

A busted lip, a black eye. Blood ran down his forehead, and he had a limp in his leg. He held his stomach, grunting as he tried to make it to the couch. She could smell the whiskey on him, and her eyes flashed to the first time they spoke. 

She had to get down to the bottom of it all. 

At first she panicked, just standing there looking at the torn up boyfriend of hers.  _Come on Jessica, you work at the hospital for fucks sake._ Racing towards the kitchen, she crouched down under the sink and pulled out there giant first aid kit. 

When she got back to Sam, her heart stopped. 

Blood stained his fingertips as he held his side, breathing carefully to not damage the wound any further. He saw her in the midst of his pain, and glanced down at the medical supplies. "Jess," He responded weakly.

Rather than replying, she set up a little station on their coffee table while Sam peeled off his shirt. If this wasn't so important, she might have checked him out. 

"Okay, I need you to move your hands alright?" Slowly he let his arms go to his side, and she began her work. Stitching as best she could, she applied some heavy cream and stuck on a bandage with medical tape. "There." His eyes slowly opened and looked at her in appreciation. "Thank you." 

Realizing he spoke, she was quick to shrug. "Nothing but a paper cut. Let's go clean you up in the bathroom." 

They headed their way slowly, trying not to bump into anything that would undo her stitches. sitting on the edge of the bathtub she wet a rag and began dabbing at all the little cuts, making sure she was careful around his bruises. "Are you going to tell me what went down tonight?" If he didn't tell her, it'd just be one more thing she'd question for the rest of her life. 

He closed his eyes for a second, one hand resting on her thigh. She had to calm down the butterflies in her stomach. Sam peaked open one eye and gave her an apologetic grin. "Just hustled some guys in pool. They think that just because I'm 21 doesn't mean I haven't ever been to a bar. Or gambled." He giggled a little bit, making her think he was having more than just a couple shots of whiskey. 

She shook her head at her boyfriend. "And why exactly are you hustling guys for pool? Who even taught you how to do that?" It was bewildering to her. All the new little things she learned about him. Like the little symbols she found him carving into their bed one night, or the butterfly knife he always carried around. She thought it was maybe some superstitions that his family brought him up to believing in, that he was paranoid about certain things. 

When Sam looked at her with both of his eyes wide open, he shot her a grin that looked like it stung to do. "Dean." 

Dean. Of course he taught him that. It shocked her even more what she could get out of him when he was drunk. Except to get him drunk, it had to do with the mysterious older brother. The more she heard from him, she didn't know if he was full of sin or tenderness. Sometimes she would lean on the kind side, with the way Sam would idolize him (Even though he would never admit to it.) but that's what younger brothers did. She also heard about all the times he's had to bail Dean out of jail, or how he went to a boys home for a month. Gambling was now added to the list, and she didn't know what to think. 

"Why would Dean teach you that babe?" She tried to sound curious rather than frightened by that fact, and I guess drunk Sam wasn't as observant as the sober one. He leaned his head against the tile and muttered, "We never had a lot of money on the road, and beating a bunch of guys at poker or pool who thought we were a bunch of punk ass teenagers was better than robbing a bank." He cuddled the side of his head with an arm, before standing up and stumbling to their bedroom. "I think I should go to bed." 

She was frozen for a split second before rushing to Sam, who shrugged off his jeans and sat on the bed. He looked at her for a second before moving to the ibuprofen on the dresser. "My side hurts." Before she could react, Sam had popped two little pills in his mouth and sipped a little bit of the warm water that sat there the night before. He grimaced, finally showing a normal reaction to something, before rolling over and closing his eyes. 

She opened her mouth and closed it before running over and shaking him. "Hey, Sam. We need to get you to the hospital." He looked at her tiredly in confusion. "Why?" 

She shook her head and threw a hoodie towards him, getting her own on as well. "Sam, drinking and pills aren't the best combinations. I would really like to make sure you're breathing within the next hour." 

Sam shrugged on the jacket, pulling the hood over his mess of hair before standing up wobbly toward her. "But I don't understand. I was fine when I did that earlier-" 

She whipped around to face him. "What? Fucking Dammit, we're taking you right now." 

\--

It's been an hour since she's seen him in the hospital. Tiredly, she held Sam's phone in her hands, turning it over in her palms. The doctor had already told her that Sam had to have his stomach pumped, and since her poor excuse of a stitch job was ripped out trying to get him down the stairs of her apartment, they were trying to treat him in the best way without doing anymore damage. 

She felt useless, knowing the nurses wouldn't let her take a shift. Under her state of stress, there was no way she could work on a patient. Sighing, she flipped through Sam's contacts. There were a couple of friends they both shared, a pizza delivery number, and then one that made her breathing stop. 

_Dean Winchester_

She looked up as if she were caught looking at porn, and her finger hovered over the call button. Was there any point in calling him? Sam had told her a million times that he left knowing he didn't have a home going back to. That the worst part was Dean telling him that he didn't feel like brothers anymore, a week prior to leaving to California. 

But she remembered the grin Sam held as he told her about Dean tucking him in all the time, and fending off bullies with his leather jacket and stone fist. Sam had done so much for her, and it was time for her to return the favor. 

After the first ring, she felt a new panic in her chest. What was she going to say?  _Bzzzzzzz._ I mean how would even react to-. _  
_

"Sammy?"

She held her breath, knowing damn well who was now on the other line. She wasn't allowed to call her own boyfriend Sammy. It was already someone else's nickname for him, he would tell her. And now she new who claimed it. 

"Sam? Are you there?" 

She sighed, before replying. "No, he's in surgery right now." 

"What the fuck? Why? What happened?" This Dean definitely sounded like a rebel. An older brother with a gruff voice. Anger was laced with every word, but also outlined with worry.

"He'll be fine, he just decided to get in a bar fight and he was drunk and he swallowed-" She heard a slam on breaks, a muttering of curse words, before dead silence. It didn't help that she was already scared of the guy. It was a while before he said anything. "Who is this talking anyway? Why do you have my little brother's phone?" 

His tone implied that if she wasn't who he wanted her to be, or if she lied about it; there would be hell to pay. It gave her chills. "I'm his girlfriend, Jessica." In an instant there was a flirtation in his next few sentences. "Jessica, huh? Tell me Jess, how did my brother score you? Let me guess, you're just as much of a geek he is. Historical facts ready to be thrown off your tongue?" 

She scoffed, but kept her patience. "A different drunk night, actually. But that's not important. When can you be here?" There was a pick up on speed, and that was screeching tires she heard in the background. "I'm about two hours away, so give me.. forty to forty-five minutes alright?" Then he hung up. 

She was slightly puzzled by his confidence on being here within that amount of time, but just closed her eyes hoping for a peaceful nap. 

Forty-five minutes later, her eyes cracked open in their dry state. It took her a minute, but eventually she realized where she was. Checking Sam's phone, she saw that it was around the same time Dean said he would be here. She looked up to see if there were any signs of him, but nothing. Maybe it would be a few more hours. She felt something staring at her in the corner of her eye, and a slight brush against her arm. Looking to her right made her jump out of her skin. 

There was the prettiest man she had yet to lay eyes one. 

This wasn't like Sam, where his hair made him seem young but his body said he was definitely not a child. There wasn't a strong and bright twinkle that made you want to run away and admire from a distance. No, it wasn't that at all. 

His hair was the typical boy short, the front of his hair slightly spiked up. His eyes were wide and delicate, but had a way of saying  _I'm gonna fuck you up if you lay a finger on me._ It took her breath away, the slight fullness of his lips, cheekbones defined; yet softened enough that it didn't seem like it was natural. His build was tough, yet almost feminine. But the best part was how he somehow knew that he was attractive, which made him more gorgeous. 

"You know, I don't think Sammy would appreciate his own chick drooling over me." 

Her face went bright red, "I-I don't-."

"Shh, it's okay. It can be our little secret. I just don't know what we're gonna do when we have to tell him about the bastard child." He winked at her, and she couldn't help but feel flustered and confused. This was Dean? He was the complete opposite of Sam! No regard towards women, an arrogance that just vibrated off of him in waves. She expected an angry tough looking guy with tattoos and piercings. The only remotely close thing she got right was all the jewelry he seemed to be wearing. She assumed the ones he held closest too him was the simple double layered ring on his finger and that hung around his neck.

"How did you even know I was-." 

Dean sat back in the hospital chair, a flirtatious grin overtaking his face. "Well, you're blond. And beautiful. Like father like son! But that's Sam's phone you're holding there. Plus the doctor kind of clued me in while you were drooling all over me." 

She couldn't help the scoff that escaped her mouth. "Are you kidding me?" She couldn't believe him. And what the hell did he mean by that? 

She suddenly remembered the picture Sam keeps on their dresser, his mom embracing his dad as they smiled into the camera. 

_Like father like son._

She suddenly felt a chill run down her spine. But that didn't stop Dean from talking. 

"No joke, Jessica. I guess Sammy forgot to mention that I'm not apart of your preppy school style. So forgive me if my manners are a bit off putting." There was a bitterness in the way he said that, and she couldn't help but wonder what exactly went down that night of Sam's acceptance letter. 

"Well, he didn't paint you as an angel, but what do you know. He wouldn't ever shut up about how amazing of a brother you were." She rested her head on her hand, looking back at Dean lazily. It was two in the morning, she realized. 

He raised his eyebrows, "And what exactly won't he shut up about?" His eyebrows went up suggestively, and she had to laugh. "You can cut the whole sweetheart crap Dean, I know there's a giant softy down there." It was his turn to scoff, but before he could say anything we were interrupted by a nurse. "Jess, sorry to have kept you waiting. Sam has now woken up. You can go see him now if you'd like-" 

Before she could even finish her sentence, Dean was off like a jet, racing in the room. She couldn't help the chuckle, giving a quick explanation to the nurse before heading after Dean into the room. 

Sam was close to tears, air caught in his throat. "Dean?" 

Dean spread out his arms and did a quick spin, before flashing is brother a grin. "In the flesh. Tell me, are you always trying to start my birthday with a bang?" Sam's cheeks twinged pink. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

Dean rolled his eyes, scooting a chair next to Sam's bed. I didn't want to disturb their conversation, wanting to observe the brothers from the background. After hearing so much, she wanted to see the bond for herself. 

"You must always be really drunk, Sammy don't you think I know about all the Jack Daniel Bottles you go through on my birthday? You never hang up the phone after you call man, always breaking my heart with your wimp apologies and shit." 

She thought about the day, and realized that it was exactly a year after she and Sam's first encounter. Dean's birthday. 

"Dean I-" 

"Yeah, yeah. I love you too. So you wanna tell me why you're overdosing? Why I got a call from your girlfriend about this? Did you take me off your emergency list?" 

Sam shook his head. "No, I just-I didn't know how else to get you to see me." 

Dean's eyes turned a bit glossy and he ducked his head. A minute passed and he looked up at his brother with a slightly pissed of expression. "And if it was your grave I was visiting instead?" Sam closed his eyes, lifting a finger up to give himself a minute. Dean took that differently, instantly wrapping his hand around Sam's forearm. "Hey, Sammy its okay. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere, you hear? Not until you're better. Not until I know you're not gonna do this again." 

Sam gripped Dean's arm with as much force, nodding along. It broke her heart, for the lost little boy she saw on that hospital bed, for the man who held his brother with the physical of a father, but the emotion of a mother. She knew in that moment that there was no one as important in Sam's life as Dean. 

And rather than envy, she felt a warmth spread through her. It would've been messed up if he would choose her over his brother. She knows she wouldn't choose him over anyone in her family, so why should he? They were in love, but it wouldn't ever sever a bond between those two brothers. What she saw in that single moment, spoke a thousand stories, millions of secrets and jokes and fights and adventures that only those two shared. 

She sat down quietly next to Dean, smiling at her boyfriend tiredly, and Dean bumped her shoulder in comfort. 

And she knew; no one would live up to the Winchester brothers, and their codependency. 

 


	2. One Bully

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why you don't mess with Dean Winchester's little brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I got writer's block trying to write any other character's view on the boys, so I made Oc's! Still relevant, however. Anyway, enjoy.

**Brendon Daniels**

 

He wished that Sam Winchester was the typical victim of his crucial beatings. 

Usually he had flailing arms trying to stop him, tiny whimpers, tears and blood everywhere. It wouldn't stop until all the anger he had was gone. All the beating his father gave him, he gave to them. He snapped their glasses like Greg Daniels snapped his bones. He couldn't help the angry tears that glistened in his eyes with every fist flying down on an already bloody nose. 

He always enjoyed the power he felt, to be the one with the upper hand. But not this time, this time it was almost like he was the one being broken down to a pathetic loser. And the only startling thing was; it wasn't his dad. 

Kicking him in the ribs, Sam doubled over, spitting blood out onto the pavement before looking tiredly at Brendon. "I'm not gonna fight you." Sam coughed up more blood, before he landed a punch to his eye, sending Sam to the ground. "And why not? Because you're afraid of me kicking your ass even more? It's alright,  _Sammy._ I'll go easy on you." He laughed again as he sent another kick to his side, making him grunt and roll over. 

Sam was on his knees, one hand holding his stomach while he gave Brendon a wary look. "You shouldn't do this, there's no point-" He sent another punch to his face, hoping the kid would just shut his mouth. No point in this? This was his own personal therapy. This was what made his hell, a heaven. 

But he couldn't beat down the Winchester as fast as he wanted to. "I don't know what you're problem is Sam, why don't you just shed a few tears, eh? Try and aim a punch at me if you will?" He smirked and elbowed Sam in the gut the second he got back up. Sam bent over, and he took the moment to slam his knee into his face. He heard the satisfying crunch of his nose that sent Sam on the ground again. But even that didn't seem to stop the boy. 

Trembling, Sam began to crawl over to the grassy part of the school, spitting up more blood that was now running down his chin and onto his shirt. The sight made him mentally cringe, but he smiled anyway and began to walk over to the freshman. "Sammy, I think you need to learn to stay down for a change, yeah?" He wanted this fifteen year old to submit, to be crushed under his foot like very other new kid that walked through this school. Sam's wiry build and honor roll grades definitely made him the right material, but for some reason he was different. He was bruised and bloody, but he wasn't broken. 

But why.  _Why?_ It was as if Sam has experienced worse than this, and he didn't know what to think. Most new kids were bright and happy, but maybe if he looked closer he would've seen the tense jaw underneath Sam's smile. Or the way he slouched his shoulders when he walked from class to class. 

But that didn't matter anymore. 

Because now, he was angry again. Angry that his father couldn't treat him right, angry that everyone got to be happier than him. He was so upset that he couldn't see though the angry leaking tears as he kicked and hit and beat the ever living shit out of the freshman. 

And when he was done, he stood back, watching as Sam's head lay in the grass, looking like his neck was broken. But it seemed that he actually had to kill Sam if he wanted the response he wanted. 

Sam never threw punches, never whined or bitched or cried. He took it like he was greeting an old friend. 

And he got up. 

This time he didn't feel like beating him back down, because this time Sam looked at him with a bloody grin, with all of the blood dripping down his neck and into the curve of his collarbone. He walked right past Brendon and limped towards the corner street, hugging his ribs. He figured the kid was going home, probably to a nice family. He spit into Sam's giant puddle of blood and rubbed it all in, angry again. He would probably tell on him the next day at school, having no idea the kind of wrath his father  would bring on him. He would live his normal life, and meanwhile Brendon would still fall asleep at night, crying into his pillow like all the other new kids probably did after experiencing his wrath. 

Every new kid went through initiation, every kid flinched at the sight of his clenched fists. They averted their eyes as he walked down the hallway and whispered as he passed. But not Sam Winchester. And no amount of beatings would teach him to stay at the bottom of Hill Grove High's food chain. 

But what would?

\--

The next day, he honestly wished that Sam had told on him like an actual bitch boy. 

No teacher was involved, no upset parents, no acting like a sissy as he told the sob story to the principle. 

None of that happened. What  _did_ happen was completely different. 

Third Period, Sam Winchester walked in with his arm in a sling, a bandage around his collarbone, and three cotton balls stuffed in his cheek. His P.E. uniform showed off all the scrapes and bruises that Brendon knew he most definitely put there. For a minute he was proud, proud that he did that much damage. No expression was on the Winchesters face accept for protest when Coach Murphy told him he needed to sit out on the mile. Oh god, he wished he knew why the Winchester made such a big deal out of it. Most geeks would love to sit out on such an event. 

He was so confused with the way Sam was acting, as if he got bruised and beaten all the time. As he pushed towards his seventh lap, his sides began to ache and he wished he was sitting on that bench instead. Maybe Sam wouldn't mind taking his place. Not if he didn't want another beating. 

By the time he was done, his time scored lower than his last, he hoarded the drinking fountain until his throat was no longer dry. 

Really he was just trying to put off what was surely coming next. There's no way Sam would let him off the hook that easy, and if he did he was dumb. Although he had to give him props. He didn't think he would have the guts to show his face the next day like Winchester. He always had to take a day off for the showing bruises to heal, for the pain ot go to a dull numb. But just like yesterday, Sam got up. He wondered if Sam would ever give in, ever break. 

Maybe he couldn't be beaten physically, but mentally he could probably stick a few holes in him. 

\--

It was after school again, and Sam Winchester was waiting at the bench, just like always on a Wednesday. For his drop out brother to pick him up and play all of the mullet rock music his dad listened to all the time. He hated it. He just wished he could press the mute button anytime it was on. 

As soon as the school was milling around with just a few quiet students, Brendon made his move. He grabbed Sam's injured arm tossed him to the ground. It was still surprising how easy it was to throw the Winchester around. Wiry, thin. No resistance, just a limp rag doll for him to torture to his command. This time, Sam yelped in shock, turning onto his back as he realized what was going on. "Brendon don't do this. Please-" 

He squatted over Sam and punched him in the jaw.  _Finally_ there was some begging. He craved the words like a Hershey Bar. He wondered if his dad did too. The way he laughed with each plea and whimper. He must have, since Brendon was enjoying this with such cruel pleasure. 

Before he could make another move, he was ripped up from off of Sam and slammed painfully into the bench. Bright green eyes were staring at him murderously, the smell of onions coming from the guys breath. On top of him was the scariest piece of shit he's ever seen. 

Dean Winchester. 

The older brother shook Brendon violently. "You think this is fun, huh? Beatin' my brother bloody? What kind of sick  _freak_ are you?" He didn't know what to do, except stare frighteningly into his face.  _Think of a plan, think of a plan._ But he had nothing. There was nothing to do. This was what he got for beating up the wrong new kid. This was payback. Oh how the world could be cruel. He found a way to deal, and now there was only hell to pay.  _  
_

Dean Winchester didn't wait for a reply. He got up and placed a foot on Brendon's chest, keeping him down while he helped up the younger brother. "Go on, Sam. I'll be with you in a minute." Sam started protesting against Dean, but was silenced with his glare. A silent conversation went between them before Sam looked at him with sympathy and regret. With his head down he climbed into their shitty black car and stayed still. Meanwhile, Dean grabbed him from his shirt and began dragging him behind the building. He felt his heart pound, flashbacks of drunken nights and broken tables. 

When they reached a shady part behind the dumpsters, Dean threw him at the wall. "Start talking douche maggot." 

Feeling his breathing starting to even out, he shook his head. "I-I don't know what you mean." That earned a laugh from him, before there was a deadly glare. Dean popped his knuckles and his neck, loosening himself up. It was strange, rather than brutal beer bottles being smashed repeatedly into his head, he would get a broken nose from a fist that has probably experienced more advanced fights than this. 

"You think I'm playing around? I had to come home to my little brother puking his guts out while holding bruised ribs. Now you tell me why you have beef with my brother or so help me god." The tone of Dean's voice was like a disappointed mother, but there was stern outline of it all that made him think he didn't know what it was like to be nurtured and loved by a careful hand. There were faint yellow bruises around Dean's eyes, faint purple ones around wrist. Then it clicked, and he didn't know whether to feel ashamed of himself or not. "You two got an abusive father too?" And he knew he hit it right on. 

Without a second thought, Dean chuckled darkly, ducking his head before looking back up at him. "So this is what this is about? Your daddy giving you love that you just have to spread around?" Dean's arms were outstretched, and he felt angry at his analogy. "Yeah, that's what I thought. But you see, that just makes you more of a dick in my opinion." 

Brendon spat at the ground. "Yeah? And what makes you think that? I know you've felt it before. I bet you even dread it when he open's a bottle of Jack." That was when the first punch came flying across, and he had to clench his teeth to keep from screaming. "No,  _no._ You don't get to decide who's miserable. I can't even stand to be around people like you." Another fist landed on his jaw, and blood started seeping through his teeth. 

Dean took a step back, surveying his work, before he started talking again. "You know, every school, every city. There's always someone wanting to beat Sammy up. God knows what the hell all of you are thinking, and yet the only difference is that you actually managed to get a couple punches into my brother." There was a slight pause. "You see, he was kept in the dark, about the drinking; the beatings. Our dad is only home a couple of hours before he's out doing his job again." 

Again, silence was brought upon them as he dwelled on his words. So Dean was abused, but why wasn't Sam? Was he the golden boy? Dean continued on, interrupting his thoughts. "Ever since Sam found out, he's been real self destructive. The boy thinks it's his fault. So I guess I could thank you in some ways for making him feel like he's made up to me." Another hit underneathe his eye, and he had to throw his head back and groan. 

"That's it pretty boy, let out all your pathetic sounds." 

He glared up at Dean, who was smiling unamused. "But then again, that kid doesn't deserve any of this  _shit."_ Dean landed one more to his stomach before walking back slowly, savoring the pain that Brendon had. _Fuck the Winchesters._ _  
_

Dean walked back to his car, and Brendon watched with a solemn expression as they drove off, Motorhead blaring in the distance. As he made his own way home, he thought about the two brothers, and how envious he was of them. He wished there was someone who could save him. Someone who could protect him from the insults and the kicks to head. He wanted to be rescued from being sent to the hospital after an episode of "Mean Daddy" and have someone patch him up with tenderness and genuine worry. 

But he didn't have that, and he knew those brother's did. He knew they were closer than anyone could believe, and that they were stronger too. The way that Sam took each blow with stride, and that Dean had enough strength to pull back and leave him alive. Who knows what would've happened if he didn't. 

As he sat down in his small kitchen and watched his dad pull out another beer, he thought about the way Sam picked himself up. He didn't cry, or beg, or whimper. He didn't try to fight back. He tried to embrace it. And that's what he did that night. And when his neck broke from being thrown at the bottom of the stairs, he quietly smiled to himself, staring into a heaven he didn't believe in.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow nvm that was shitty. Sorry?


	3. Mary Winchester, 1978

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm your son." 
> 
> "....What?"

**Mary Winchester**

She couldn't think of anything worse than that moment in her life. 

As she poured the holy oil, she felt Dean's presence a few feet behind her. And now she had the chance to figure this out. "Okay," She started off, getting his attention "you said you'd explain everything when we had a minute. We  _have_ a minute. Why does an angel want me dead?" Out of all things that wished to kill her, it was something that she never quite believed in. The irony made her sigh thinking about it. Dean looked at her, panic flashing in his eyes for a minute before he looked around. Turning back to her, he licked his lips and held a small smirk on his face. "b'cause they're dicks."  _  
_

Mary held in a laugh, only giving a huff. He wasn't going to talk, and she needed to try harder. What was so bad that she couldn't know? The grim expression on his face made her think that he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He looked tired, but not enough that he couldn't chop your head off if he had to. He was scary like most hunters were.  "Not good enough. I didn't even know they  _existed,_ and now  _I'm_ a target?" 

Again, Dean looked down like he was trying to avoid telling her, "It's complicated." If he wasn't going to make time for this, she would. "Fine," she said standing up. "I'm all ears." With her arms spread wide, she hoped he would give her something to motivate her. There was something odd and distant about Dean that made her wish she knew more where he came from. It's always interesting hearing how a hunter came into the life. But it's also boring to hear the same story over and over. Someone they loved died, they experienced an almost-death experience. She grew tired of all the tragedies. Dean looked to the side of him, exasperated, before looking back at her. "You're just gonna have to trust me, okay?" 

"I've been trusting you all day." Seriously, she was tired of that excuse too. She trusted him enough to keep her alive and well, that he knew what he was doing. Now he had to return the favor. But apparently he couldn't play fair.  _Asshole._ "It's kind of hard to believe."  _  
_

If he wanted to play at this game, he had to know that she would win in the end. Might as well let the angel kill her. Laughing, she started to turn around. "Alright then, I'm walking out the door-" 

"I'm your son." 

That froze her in her spot, and she couldn't breathe. What the hell? She looked at him, the question in her eyes. "...What?" He had to be joking, right? How in the hell could this be her son? There was no way, she couldn't have raised her kids into this life. But the look in Dean's eye turned to grief, which threw her off more. He walked towards her, the gun in his hand held to him like a soldier. "I'm your son. Sorry, I don't know how else to say it." He paused for a moment, "We're from the year-" He gestured towards where Sam was."-2010. An angel zapped us back here... Not the one that attacked you; a friendlier." He looked at her with hope, but she just felt like she'd been played. 

"You... can't, expect me to believe that." The thought of raising her kids into this life... She wouldn't let it happen. She told herself over and over that it was never going to happen. Whatever was going on here, he was just avoiding the truth. She couldn't even think of why he thought that lie was gonna make it's way through to her. 

He nodded, as if he expected that response from her, and a jolt of panic went through her. The way he looked at her, like he was looking at something so dear, so darling to him that he couldn't protect. But that was the hunter life anyway. You got your fair share of loved ones killed, and then you end up with a broken bottle of whiskey and angry spirits on your ass 

He gave her a sad, guarded look; before continuing to prove his point. "Our names are Dean and Sam, Winchester. We're named after your parents." She reached a finger to her stomach, hoping he wouldn't notice. 

He thought for a moment, before giving her a small smile; his lip trembling. "When I would get sick? You would make me tomato rice soup. 'cause that's what your mom made you." Her eyes welled up at the thought, her own mother long gone and dead. She wanted to cry, scream at her 'son' for being here. For being brought into this life. It couldn't be, there was no way. Although he kept on going. "And instead of, a lullaby." He gave her a pointed glance. "You would sing Hey Jude, 'cause that's your favorite Beatles song." 

She shook her head, as if she could forget everything he just told her. She couldn't stop the anguish in her voice as she looked back up at him to see the same look of grief and despair on his face. "I-" She couldn't control all the emotions that washed over her. Her stomach turned, and she couldn't help but feel where she went  _wrong._ "I don't believe it." She sniffed, looking back up at him. "No." 

He looked sympathetic for her, rather than himself. "I'm sorry but it's true." He had an intense clench in his jaw, one that indicated he was having a hard time keeping the emotionless mask that hunters are designed to wear. Her mouth fell open, head tilting to the side. She had to ask what she would regret the most. "I raised... my kids.. to be hunters?" 

A flash of confusion flashed before his eyes, before he told her; slightly appalled. "No. No you didn't." 

"How could I do that to you-" 

"You didn't do it." He took a small step towards her, looking as if the next part would kill him. "Because you're dead." His voiced cracked into a small whisper, and she could see that he was so desperately wishing to have her alive.

It didn't shock her that much, but the tears that clogged her throat were too much. "What, what happened?" She had to know, what she could do to fix all this. If it wasn't her, she'd be damn certain she wouldn't let anything happen to her babies. No one would get in her way. Anything she could do before she died, to make sure this wouldn't ever happen.  

Dean licked his lips, the way John would during a stressed time. "Yellow-eyed demon." That made her huff, half in annoyance and the other in sadness. He couldn't leave her alone, could he? Looking down at the ground, Dean explained further. "He killed you, and.." He looked over to where Sam and her husband were. "John, became a hunter to get revenge." She looked up, slightly rolling her eyes. He loved her, so deeply. But at what cost? When was that love too much for everyone around? "He raised us in this life." 

It was a moment of silence as she let it all in. She couldn't handle the fact that the Winchester boy she fell in love with for his freedom of choice and sweet personality, would be the one to raise their children in the life she's hated since forever. She wondered what kind of bed time stories they would get, if they had any at all. Would their be any reason to ask if they ate their vegetables? 

Dean started talking again after a short while. "Listen to me," He waited for her head to turn up towards him. But the tears in her eyes and the wobbly lip must have been too much for him, as he looked at the floor again. "A demon comes into Sam's nursery, exactly six months after he's born. November 2nd, 1983. Remember that date. And whatever you do." The next statement was a plea, a beg for the mother he never got to know. "Do not go in there. You wake up the next morning and you take Sam and you run-"

"It's not good enough, Dean." 

Sam walked around the corner, and despite the fact that he towered over Dean, she could tell that he was the little brother. Her baby, her  _child._ The way he slunk himself, so tired of whatever it is they've been up against. She didn't know what to say. She swallowed, her throat thick and her heart heavy. Sam looked at her, giving a small smile. She remembered his first words to her, earlier that day. 

_"You, are so beautiful."_

She realized that he was barely half way to his first birthday, before the demon killed her. Sam must've only had pictures and bitter-happy memories that were retold to him. The way he was choking on his own tears earlier. It all made sense, and she felt sad for the boy never got to know. The baby she hardly gets to hold. The one she can't watch take his first steps, or say his first words. 

Sam leaned against the doorway, slouching himself into a lazy stance. "Wherever she goes, the demon's gonna find her. Find me." She saw the look that went past between the two boys, her two sons. They seemed so heroic, so in touch with each other that would naturally make any mother proud. But she imagined that they were heroes because they were forced to be, and that they were dependent to each other because they're all that they have. If John raised them to be so hardened, trained killers. She couldn't imagine very affectionate moments. 

But she could imagine that Dean filled the hole that she left gaping in their hearts, unintentionally. A job he has to fulfill. Her hand was pressed against her stomach, and she hoped that they would be to far in their own heads to put the pieces together. As quick as a blink, she glanced at her flat stomach. In there was a green eyed, freckle-faced baby who would grow into a man. A hero. 

Dean gave Sam desperate, irritated look. "Well then what?" 

Sam looked around, giving out a sigh. He really didn't want to say what was on his mind. But what other choice did he have? "She can leave dad, that's what."

Mary gave an absurd look, before glancing back and forth between the two of them. They couldn't be serious. But the look on Dean's face said otherwise. He looked as if Sam had said all demons were demolished from earth. Looking at her, Sam gave her a stern look, as if he were wiser, older one here. "You gotta leave John." 

"What?-" 

"When this is all over, walk away. And never look back." The light in his eyes made her think that he was crazy. Was he ridiculous? She couldn't leave! This was her life now, her only chance to freedom. She saw two children that she'd be proud of, dead or alive. And they wanted her to leave it all. Her happiness, her home. 

"So we're never born.." Dean got a spark of hope in his eye, looking back to Mary. "He's right." 

"I-I can't-" She couldn't be asked to do this, it was too late. 

He looked at her, ready to say something, but she wasn't going to allow him to make this of her. "You're saying that you're my  _children,_ and now you're saying-"

"You have no other choice."

"There's a big difference between dying, and never being born. And trust me,  _we're_ okay with that. I promise you." 

"Okay, well I'm not!" She wanted to scream, cry and smash her fists into the dry and weak walls. She already developed a love for the life inside her, for Dean. And she couldn't let go of that. If only this angel tried to kill her before she found out, before he was established. 

Sam tried again. "Listen, you think you can have that normal life that you want so bad, but you can't. I'm sorry. It's all gonna go rotten. You are gonna die, and your children... will be cursed." 

She wished she could follow his wishes, his demands for her to go. But what would happen? She wasn't fit, wasn't wealthy enough to go on her own. There wasn't anything she could do now. But maybe. "Th-there. There  _has_ to be a way." 

"No this is the way, leave John." The way he said his name, made it seem like there was a lot more than just the hunting life that bothered him about this whole thing.  _Could he have..?_

"I can't." Why couldn't she make him see that? 

He gave her a tiny glare of frustration, before starting up again. "This is bigger, than us. There are so many more lives at stake-" 

"You don't understand. I  _can't."_ _  
_

She gave him a pointed look, but he seemed set on making her leave. He'd probably drag her away if he had to. But I guess the only way was to actually use her words. 

Mary twirled her foot around, her hand on her chest with the other wrapped around her stomach. She couldn't bear giving them the news that they were still gonna lead the lives they were. "It's too late."  _Too late for all of this._

"I'm..." 

"I'm pregnant." 

The look on Dean's face nearly killed her, the way he lost all hope to never be born, to never live through whatever he did. She went to comfort him in any way she could, but John came around the corner; panicked about smudged Sigils. 

And as Michael wore her husband's face, two fingers ready to erase her pride and love for her future boys, she regret not giving them the very thing they wished for. 

But at least they had each other. 

 


	4. John Winchester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John watches his boys' bond crack for the first time, and repair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned a little almost more towards Dean in the end? And I could probably add more, but I kind of like how I left things. Always a touch of sloppiness.

He had to admit, he was pretty fucking pissed that this is what it boiled down to. He didn't want to ask his son choose, but what other choice did he have? Sam would be dead within the day he got to Stanford. But it was more than that. It was more than just the family business. 

It was Dean. 

God knows that he hasn't treated him well, that he put too much on his shoulders. But he likes to think that Sam sometimes lifted that burden. That Dean didn't always feel like dirt when he was around. And he wasn't, he really was the best he could ever ask for. But how do you tell him that you're proud? It wasn't easy, especially since he boarded himself up for years after Mary's death. 

The thought still put a hole in his chest. 

And now he was about to add two more along with it. 

"You just can't except that I want to have my own life now!" Sam was screaming, his hair just beginning to become that floppy mop that it does in the summer. His face was red, and tears staining his cheeks. He was about to leave when Dean came home from his shift, and started another wave of anger and agony. He was nursing a beer and watching as they were on the urge of becoming physical. It hasn't been like this since they were just kids. When Dean used to leave him at Plucky's for numerous days while he explored his "teen life." He really couldn't say anything about that, since Dean never really got that taste of freedom and youth. He was out of town most of the time anyways, unable to set his oldest straight.

"Really, Sam? I've had it up to here with your bullshit!" If the situation weren't so serious, it would've been hilarious to look at dean's inch-shorter appearance trying to over tower his brother. You could still tell which one was older, from the way Dean's arms buffed out in muscle and veins and Sam was just... Wiry. No amount of meat could help that boy gain something. Not that he eats any, anyway. 

"Well maybe if you weren't such a friggin' jerk, we wouldn't even have this problem!"

" _I'm_ the jerk? I'd think since you were going to be the one leaving me, begs to differ-" 

"You are the jerk! I have had to put up with the weapon training, and the nagging, and the  _stupid_ chicks that come around within each passing city. And now it's my turn to live my life! You're not in it anymore Dean!" Sam was huffing and running his fingers through his hair, while Dean just clenched his fists.  _  
_

Letting out a shaky breath, Dean replied. "Then why are you still here? Huh? Why bother with this..." Dean couldn't finish his sentence, and he walked into the bathroom with a slam. Sam gave John a irritated glare before picking up his duffel, sagging it over his shoulder and turning the door. 

"If you walk out that door, don't you ever, come back." 

He didn't need Dean to fall apart again, to see him fall again. He saw it in the way Sam kept talking about another life, and a normal one. One that didn't include his family, his brother. John was going to force Sam out that door, and allow him to do what he thought he needed to do. 

Sam looked back at him with a deadly rage in his puffy eyes, the same one Mary gave me every time he moved out for a few. John was suffocating, and the only way to breathe was to let his youngest go. "You hear me, Sam? Don't ever think you have the privilege to come back." More tears began to form in Sam's eyes, and he adjusted his bag before slamming the door behind him. Footsteps that got quieter, walking away from the motel. But the worst sound of all was coming from the small dirty bathroom to his right. 

Dean, who he hasn't seen cry since Sam had to go in for surgery when he was 12. Dean, who followed every order with a poker face. Dean, who ran into burning buildings to save people who he'd never really know. His son, one of the many faces of his world, who made sure his drunk ass was put to sleep. He was sobbing with such raw emotion that it broke the strings his heart held onto. He could see Dean squeezing that amulet, not daring to look in the mirror. Hearing him pull back in a breath made him realize that he was trying not to cry so loud, so his father couldn't hear. 

He never realized he made Dean feel like he was weak for that. 

Throwing his glass in the stained sink, he made his way to the rumpled bed. Before he could pull off his boots and crawl in, he heard the shatter of the mirror. He made himself relax, ignoring the way Dean left his fist bloody as he walked towards the door. "I'm going to drive Sam to the bus station." He said bitterly, and shut the door behind him. The only thing he did was sigh, shaking out of his jeans and crawling into the covers. 

 

It wasn't until the next morning that he felt empty.. cold. 

He was pretty sure that his boys could do just fine without him, that they have done fine without him. But now there was a new tension that wasn't there before. There weren't any silent arguments or Bush playing quietly in the corner. No laughter, no snoring, or feet kicking around the blankets. There wasn't the bond that his boys had. Nothing. The air was stale, like always, but Sam's lunges weren't there to consume any of it. Not even the boy he had left was breathing properly with this newly change of path. 

_Wait._

He whirled around to look for Dean, who never made indication that he made it back. "Dean?" He called into the empty space of the motel room. But there was nothing but the heater in the corner. He was about to call him when he heard someone coughing in the bathroom. Cautiously, he opened the door and flicked the light on, only to see Dean sprawled by the toilet, sickness filling the air. Cringing, John squatted down next to his boy, brushing a hand through his hair. He flinched, eyes puffy and hand covered in dry blood and his mouth reeking of vodka. "It's okay, Dean." He whispered, still running a hand through his hair. There was a small moment of tenderness, as Dean sniffed, his Adam apple bobbing. 

Deciding that was enough for him, John retracted his hand and stood up, knees shaking a little for crouching for so long. "Why don't you wash up, alright?" He waited for the tiny nod,  _yes sir,_ before walking out and finding himself a cup of coffee. He didn't bother with sugar or cream, as he never has. Heard Dean hop in the creaky shower, door cracked slightly. It was a long time, longer than John would deem necessary for a shower, but he let it slide. He decided that, just this once, Dean could have time. Monsters could wait a little longer with their family falling apart. 

 _You'll be okay, Dean._ He thought to himself.  _It's all going to turn out just fine._

 

Two years later, and it's been almost completely silent from both ends. Sam doesn't bother to call, and Dean gave up weeks after Sam left. It's getting easier to not hear the silent complaining, the teenage brooding that should have been in the backseat. He hates how it feels so empty back there, in the impala. It became so unbearable that he decided to pass the car along to Dean. His disbelief eventually broke out into a huge grin, and he didn't regret his decision at all. He knew Dean would treat her with as much respect as he could. A week later, he found himself a black truck. The engine purred quietly, and he didn't have to search for the right cassette tapes while driving. It was perfect.

Dean would follow him to hunts if it was important, if it required two sets of hands on the job. But he mostly sent him off to other places. The places he couldn't bear to go without thinking about a certain shaggy-haired boy. Besides, the closer to Palo Alto, the better. It's not like he didn't know that Dean would drive down there, trying to get some sneak peak into Sam's new life. He should have called Dean on it.  _It's not healthy, boy. He's moved on. Why can't you?_ But that would just make him cruel, to actually say those words to Dean. He didn't like that Sam rebelled, and he knew Dean would most likely disobey that order to let go. So he never did, and Dean always took jobs near California that he threw at him. It wasn't too bad. 

Within the next week, Dean gets a call from Sam's girlfriend, Jessica. Sam got a bit drunk after studying late and swerved into a tree. John has never seen the boy drive out of the parking lot so fast. Before he could say no, he was off, along with his phone too. Probably didn't want any lectures about leaving his brother alone. 

It took a few days, an afternoon for Dean to call, all pissed off. Dean visited him in the hospital and was almost immediately escorted out. Apparently Sam threw a little bitch fit about his brother coming back. "It wasn't even that bad!" Dean quoted, to him. He could hear the scowl on Dean's face, probably getting so angry that he was driving recklessly. "Who does that kid think he is, huh?" He let him vent for a couple more minutes before not wanting to hear anymore. As though Dean hates chick flick moments, he definitely could win an Oscar for having them. "That's enough Dean, you need to get your head in the case. Normal, Illinois." He hung up straight after, rubbing his forehead and looking back down at the file Bobby gave him. But nothing could make him focus.

He thought back over his boy's words. Dean never took anything to heart unless it was deep down personal. And he was pretty sure that Dean still loved his brother more than anything. More than John, most definitely over Mary. There weren't any girlfriends that he knew of that Dean would take a bullet for. But Sam, Sam was his world. His reason for his world, anyway. 

He didn't understand why Sam would be so heartless, so cruel to forgetting about everything Dean has done for him. But he never really listened in to their conversations, their feelings. That was his boys' business, their own bubble of feelings and everything he dropped the second his wife died. But maybe he should have tuned in an ear, maybe he should have been more considerate of what they wanted. 

It was too late now, and there were no more comics read annoyingly out loud or burps going around the table. No more ruffles of hair or arm wrestling matches on the shitty motel table. There was no more of a bond to watch and be fond of. There was nothing but the broken pieces, and he couldn't help but think he caused it. 

 

It takes two more years, and he makes Dean think he's missing. Slowly, but surely planning out to get this demon in broad daylight. It wasn't going to be easy, and he had to make sure that everything was in order. 

He picks up a few cases here and there, dropping them the second he figures out what it is. Leaves little hints here and there to the next. He eventually sees Dean on TV for charges of murder. Shape-shifter, he thinks. The news caster, a few days later, claims that Dean Winchester is dead. It's not really him, John says to himself. But the thought leaves a pang in his heart. Who knows how many people his son has saved, how many women have had the pleasure of knowing him. Physically, at least. And it doesn't bring him any happy thought about Dean having sex, but he's pretty sure that he's proud of him for taking something for himself. 

He calls Dean's cell a month later, he's in California and he can practically  _smell_ the demon dancing around him. He's around the edges, dangling victims and evidence all over the place. He can't help but think the next will be Sam's guts all over the floor or Dean with his throat slit. There's a case he can keep them busy with, at least. While the phone is ringing, he thumbs the button on his flannel, and waits until he hears the baby voice, the one that hasn't changed in four years through the phone. "Hello?" It's mixed with sleep and innocence and everything that used to make him get up in the morning. 

He makes a small sigh, "Sam, is that you?" There's a rustle around before he hears the faint, almost hopeful voice now. "Dad.. -Are you hurt?" John's thrown back to eight years before, when Sam would call in the middle of the night terrified. It got old after awhile, and he always told him to go bug Dean instead of him. But now it was like seeing heaven on earth. His Sammy still cared, still wanted to believe his dad was okay. "I'm fine." At least, he was for now. 

"We've been looking for you everywhere. We didn't know where you were!-or if you were okay-" A wave of warmth ran over him to the point where he almost had tears in his eyes.  _We've been looking for you. We didn't know. We. We. We._ They were the same person again, not just Sam, not just Dean, nor a 'Dean and I'. We. "Sammy I'm alright. What about you and Dean?" 

There was a couple more noises, before Sam spoke again. "Well,-we're fine. But dad where are you?" He suddenly wished it was Dean on the phone, where Dean would just get exactly what John had to give, what John's approval was. Sam was always destroying the "Shoot first, ask questions later" rule. "Sorry, kiddo. I can't tell you that." Hopefully he would leave it at that, but it was never easy with Sam. "What? Why not?" He heard Dean's faint voice in the background, so close, so tender. 

"Look I know this is hard for you to understand, j'st, you're gonna have to trust me on this." There was a beat of silence, Sam's almost unheard breathing. Then it clicked. "You're after it, aren't you. The thing that killed mom." He said it with so much understanding, so much faith. You wouldn't believe that Mary died when he was only a baby. But maybe that's what Sam's motivation was. He never got to know her. Her voice, her touch. It was foreign, and a monster took it away. 

"Yeah.. It's a demon, Sam." His reply was almost right away. "A demon? You know for sure?" There was Dean on the other line, firing questions Sam's way. "I do." After awhile he proceeded to apologize about his girlfriend. Only bad things happen to the Winchester family. He just wished it skimmed over the youngest. Sam's voice was a little broken after awhile, before he tried to fight to come his way here. It wasn't until he forced him to hand over the phone to Dean was his headache gone. 

He loved that boy, but he was asking too much this time, all the time. 

 

It was almost unbearable seeing Sam with his floppy hair, his tall-almost awkward-height next to his brother, Dean with his spiky hair the scent of metal and sweat coming off of them. Sam had a claw mark running down his face from the Shadow Demon. But that's not what mattered at the moment, because at this moment. His family was together. Sam and Dean were no longer just sibling, not even just brothers. They were Sam and Dean. 

He couldn't believe that he was hunting with the two of them again, that they were working together, that they Sam still chose every chance to bicker, that Dean still pulled Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir" song out on rainy nights. He drove in front of them, his black truck feeling a little more empty now. He glanced in the rear view mirror a couple of times to get a look of what his boys might be doing. Dean seemed to be tapping his thumbs against the steering wheel, nodding along with whatever Sam was saying. Sam's face sagged a little in sorrow, but it's almost as if he could contain whatever sadness, like Dean allowed him to feel not only content, but  _happy._ He was better than okay, despite his girlfriend dying only seven months before. 

He took it all in, before turning up his own tunes, and turning down the road to the vampire's nest. 

 

Sam didn't shoot the demon, and now they were in the hospital, with Dean in a coma. It was everything he feared. Everything he's been working for.  _I knew I shouldn't have involved him, this was stupid stupid stupid so fucking stupid-_

Sam was racing in, eventually. Rambling on to try and find a way to save Dean. The more he talked about it, the less motivated he was. Why should Sam be able to save his brother when all he was able to do was hurt him? Why should Dean have to deal with anymore of this crazy world? He quickly agreed to Sam's nonsense, telling him that he didn't know what the demon meant. Or at least, he would pretend he didn't if he could help save Sam from the incredible darkness within him. There was always that. 

He sat with Dean, by his bed, thinking about how much of a  _boy_ he looked like. Whether or not he was fighting death, this, this was what he always wanted. Not a soldier, not a warrior, or a babysitter for his brother. He was a child, a boy. Always having his face stuffed in a pillow, like he didn't want that vulnerability shown. But now it did, it was out in the open. Such a fragile piece. He wanted to leave him like that forever. He wanted Dean to get what he wanted. 

He needed his own life, and he wasn't ever going to get that if he was around. It couldn't be Sam's choice to save his brother. He wouldn't find a way. But John did. And he will use it. And hopefully, everything would turn out okay. 

 


	5. The English Teacher

Being an English teacher always had it's perks.

I didn't have to follow silly equations, or have complaints about not understanding a problem. I always got at least fifteen minutes of silence as I make each class read whatever book I throw their way. But the best part, was the writing.

There were your typical short and hard-to-read essays or assignments, the ones where you roll your eyes and hand it back knowing they knew exactly what kind of score they'd get out of it. There were the ones who thought you had all the time in the world to read their novel-like paper, each filled with meaningless details and ongoing sentences. You had typical A students who nail it spot on from the first letter, the ones with mysterious plot twists or dark spots. I could never figure out what they meant, but I know that they intended for me to be confused or conflicted.

Every topic question, I always made sure to include something to write about themselves. To see a little peak into their lives, and learn new things. It gets old really quick reading the same thing every hour, to every year. If only someone could tear out a few pages and add a different twist or turn. She would enjoy that kind of vandalism over the badly drawn vulgarity on the back covers. I always enjoyed reading their voices, their thoughts. By the time adults start having their own kids, they forget that there's a new life with new opinions and bright ideas. But I try to change that, despite the groans I hear when I ask them their new daily topic: What's important to you?

I allow the rest of class to get their brains into gear, to write and develop a couple paragraphs. Katy Spencer is delicately writing with a pen and a smirk on her face, and Toby Jillington was playing with the edge of his notebook paper, seeming to be bored out of his mind. Not everyone was born to be an author or poet; so I let him doze off as I scouted the room. My eyes landed on the one student who I adored, at most.

Sam Winchester.

That boy was sure something, and I didn't know how he was as smart as he was. Looking back to his records, he's been to more schools than you could possibly imagine, holes in his plaid shirt and a giant flop of hair that covered his forehead. Not to mention the older boy who picked him up on Wednesday's, a typical rebellious bad boy you'd find yourself with in the back of a bar. But I guess every family has one that redeems them all. I didn't know too much about the father, but I knew the mother died when Sam was very young.

It seemed like a hard life, but somehow the boy got through it. I was excited to see what he came up with on his paper. It made me wonder, what was important to him? School? Maybe a pet? He probably loved his family, but were they important to him? His brother seemed like the type to abandon him every second he got, and it seemed like his dad did that already. But what did she know?

I looked at the boy to find him staring out the window, a thoughtful look on his face. I appreciated that he was actually trying to think of what was important to him, rather than jot down the first thing that came to mind. Or maybe he was trying to figure out a way to word it. Either way, it was very exciting to think about what he might have wrote. The second he picked up his pencil and began to write, my heart was beating fast. Hopefully he'd be done by the end of the period and hand it in, so I could read it for myself.

The bell rang, and students began to filing out of the classroom, the ones who finished early handing in their assignments. Sam turned his in absently, leaving the room with quiet footsteps. I waited a couple of minutes before digging into the pile of papers and finding his rough but understandable writing. Pretending to be grading it, I begin reading.

_What's important to you?_

_I don't exactly know what to expect by the time I finish this, but I do know that I find this question to be a bit vague._

_If you were to ask my dad, he would tell you that it would be the job. Without the job, someone you love might not be alive at the moment. If you were to ask my brother, you might get the same answer; just worded differently. The Family Business, he would tell you. Family being an emphasis, because that's all Dean wants. I can see it any time he pulls out a picture of our mom. I feel it in the way he looks for our dads approval._

_If you were to ask them what's important to me, you'd probably get an answer like "education" or the "normal life." And they're right. To a degree. I've never liked the way we live. motel to motel. Diner after diner, school after school. Endless highways and back roads. And education is pretty important to me as well. I mean, it'll bring me out of this endless routine. I could go to college with an education, I could settle down and breathe one day because of getting good grades. I suppose those things are important to me, but really these are just dreams. They are hopes, they are goals._

_If you were to truly ask what's important to me, what would really be put before anything in my life. It would be my big brother, Dean._

_You see, Dean has been the only constant in my life. It doesn't matter how many times he goes out with a girl, how many times I have to stay up late to see him because he's been working late. He's always there, always being the best brother I could ever ask for._

_I don't know exactly why it gets everyone so surprised, like I could ever be abused by my brother. I suppose it's his attitude, his leather jacket, his car. He's got a way of grinning and sliding his way out of anything. He looks good, he feels good to be around. He can be bright and over shining in every way possible. But I suppose it seems that way because I don't enjoy the spotlight. He's important to me because I'm important to him, and without each other, going motel to motel, diner after diner, school after school. Endless highways and back roads; they would be hell. I don't know if I can put that as a part of my assignment. But I'll trust you'll let it pass._

_To only write this much for this topic, is a struggle. I could go endlessly about how and why he's important to me, why he tops education and a "normal life" all together. But this is only a small English assignment, like many others that I have had to write and shorten and keep vague. I suppose that's why you keep all topics vague as well._

_What's important to you?_

The ending of his paper startled me, because there was so much behind that small sentence at the end. He evidently brought light to what I thought about his brother, in a small topic question. He asked me those four little words at the end, as if challenging me to try and one up his important thing. The most important person to him. 

I had dozens upon dozens of thoughts flying through my head. About his life, about the "family business." About his brother and his father and how despite being so non-descriptive, he wrote his page in color.

I marked a little 'A' at the top of it, putting it to the side and reading the other papers in the small stack I had. Horses, one girl said. Family, said a boy. Only a couple paragraphs, just like Sam. But they seemed so thoughtless and miscalculating. It brought tears to my eyes, that this one boy, the youngest Winchester, had someone so close to him in his life. I suppose it was inevitable, that they really had no other choice but to be close. But I imagined that there was also a choice in that bond.

A week later, Sam Winchester was no longer a student of Whitman High. And I found myself grieving to see a certain freckled boy, picking up his younger brother, and leaving a mystery to the universe.


End file.
